Noting the stranger ahead on the trail, Desmond instinctively reaches back for the hood of his cloak before remembering he tossed it when he was running from Nizzib. Or was it Nibzit? Nitwit?

"Why can't they have normal names?" he mumbles to nobody in particular before taking a deep breath and resigning himself to whatever reaction this newcomer has to a party consisting of a two-headed halfling, a dwarf, an elf, and a young woman dressed up as an elf.

"How goes it there, lad? Lost are ya?"Desmond asks, trying to act normal.

Appearing to incorrectly surmise the man's stare, Desmond nods his head and says, "Yeah, I know. He's stinky and grumpy and not much to look at, but he has his moments. Honestly, if it wasn't for him, I wouldn't be here today."

He chuckles and gets ready to dodge a punch, "His name is Dorgan, by the way. And dwarfs aren't so bad once you get to know them. I'm Desmond. And this noggin here is Mondes. He's surly, too, but I've grown attached to him. The quiet one there is Dhren and the girl is Ashtad."

"You're in luck, both in making it out of Ket and in bumping into us! We know of the abbey and, in fact, are headed that way. I dare say we do our fair share of fleeing, but we occasionally try our luck at fighting. Anyone who isn't a snark or a bridge-guarding ogre is welcome to join us. And there's more of us at the Abbey and... well... somewhere else, I imagine, but that's a bit complicated..." he trails off, not really sure how to continue.

Morgan relaxes visibly at Desmond's words, and shifts his flail to rest on his left shoulder. He holds forth his right hand.

"I am Morgan, once of Maine, lately of Ket, and now...as you see me. I would be glad to travel with you and lend my flail and whatever else I can offer to your cause.

"And yes, Master Dwarf, I have heard tell of Desmond Double-Trouble, though I must confess I never believed such a person could exist. I can only assume you are his companion, known as the Rock? I beg your forgiveness for my rudeness in staring, Master Desmond."

Desmond shrugs, "No worries, Morgan. One comes to expect that initial reaction. And excepting that time he bough a mule when I was sleeping..."

The usually quiet Mondes chuckles gruffly while Desmond rolls his eyes.

"... he hasn't been too bad. Saint J... er, I mean, Miss Josiane DID say something about a cure,"Desmond casts a sidelong glare at his second head, "but... I think we'll keep him for now."

"Anyway... let's be on our way, then. We've bad news to deliver and people to find. Say, Morgan, you didn't by any chance pass by any farm steads what might be able to supply the abbey with some food on yer way here, did you?"

"When I fled the city, my main thought was seeking cover, escape and evasion. Many times I thought I would end up as meat on a cookfire, but I managed to keep out of sight just long enough to remain whole. I admit that I paid scant attention to the condition of the farms...often my only goal was simply to cross the next hundred yards or so.

"But I do remember that it seemed as if the invaders had set everything...everything...ablaze. There may yet be something that remains, but I don't remember."